Make Me Beautiful
by HecateA
Summary: Somewhere along the way, Cinna thinks that too many artists and designers have touched Portia without really seeing her. Oneshot.


**Hi! Cinna is still my favourite character in the Hunger Games, and I miss him in the newer movies... I also miss Portia... And I miss the love that might have been...**

 **This was a birthday story for Max, who turned 17 a week ago, and who's head of costumes for a bunch of plays. I just didn't get around to posting this story- but now it's here! I hope you enjoy.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or world portrayed below.**

* * *

 **Make Me Beautiful**

* * *

 _I don't mind spendin' everyday  
Out on your corner in the pourin' rain  
Look for the girl with the broken smile  
Ask her if she wants to stay awhile  
And she will be loved, and she will be loved_

-She Will Be Loved, Maroon Five

* * *

"Her?" Cinna stuttered. "I get _her?"_

The manager looked down at his list.

"Your name _is_ Cinna Manning?"

"Yes," he said.

"And she's Portia Langelos," he said. "Yes, you do have her. That must be a mistake… I can rectify it if you'll give me ten minutes…"

"No," Cinna said impulsively. This was his first big show. This was his first worthwhile chance to get noticed, to do something important. "It'll be fine."

"Really?" the manager said. "Usually we assign our newer designers to models who have less-"

Cinna wasn't sure if that was to be followed up with 'prestige' or 'prominence' or 'attention', because the manager ran off to fix a problem with the stage lights _again._ And so Cinna had no choice but to extend his five seconds of courage and go introduce himself to Portia Langelos.

She was sitting on a high black chair like every other model, except the way she crossed her legs and bent her elbows seemed so easy and comfortable… As if she'd been born to sit on this chair. That was what a lot of people said about her; that she was born for the chair, born for the stage lights to hit her and for silk and pearls to be wrapped around her. Cinna didn't disagree, she was beautiful. Everything about her was long and graceful from the curve of her neck to her delicate shoulders. Her skin practically shone and her hair was in a raven-black league of its own.

"Hello," he said, hugging his black sketchpad to his chest. "My name is Cinna, I'll be your designer for today's Run."

Portia straightened up and smiled at him, holding out her hand. Her almond-shaped eyes twinkled. "I'm Portia. Pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure- umm, yes, the pleasure is mine," Cinna said. "So, do you do these Runs often?"

Runs were like a sport in the Capitol. Designers would compete for spots and be assigned random models. Then they'd duke it out for the best design, though models also fought for the best performance award. It was another event for the rich and elite to place bets on in between Hunger Games, but with silk this time.

"Not very," Portia said. "I do private work mostly. Contracts and whatnot."

"Understandable," Cinna said. "I saw the work you did for Avenci and his new line of ballgowns. Beautiful."

"Thank you," Portia said.

"I- I hope today will make this Run worth it for you," Cinna said. "I had a few ideas, but I didn't want to pick a final concept before seeing my model and I thought that you'd like to see what I'd put you in as well and-"

Of course, as he was going to show her his sketches, he dropped his big black book. Fabric samples and loose sketches pooled around the floor.

"Sorry!" Cinna said. "Sorry, it's… I'm new. By the way. If you couldn't tell, I'm sorry I.."

"Will you make me beautiful?" Portia asked.

"Will I – well- yes, of course…" Cinna said.

"Then it doesn't matter if you're new," Portia smiled. "It'll be beautiful. Here, let me help you pick up…"

She hopped off her chair and knelt down by Cinna to help him clean up.

"I like how you're letting me chose," Portia said. She picked up the design for a dark blue dress and looked it over. "Are all of these designs viable for the Run?"

"Not all," Cinna said. "Only those that I can make in the two hours."

"Fair enough," Portia said. "And of course, it has to fit the theme…"

"Fairy Tales," Cinna said. "I haven't heard of those since my Ancient Literature class."

"I've never read one, though I've heard of many," Portia said. "What were you thinking? Show me your drawings…"

And so Cinna swallowed his fear and the last of his shyness and showed Portia a fair range of romantically loose dresses and sleeves with slits to show the shoulders and corsets and gauze.

* * *

Cinna didn't make it into the top three for that Run. Maybe he'd been in fourth place, maybe he was in last. There was no way to know.

But Portia had won for Model Performance. And so she got to choose her designer for the next run.

And she picked Cinna.

"We'll meet again," she winked at him. Half of her makeup had been rubbed off which gave Cinna a weird half-glance at her real face. It was framed by a few loose strands, deliberately pulled from her enormous braid.

"I'm happy to hear that," Cinna said, stomach wrenching. Portia whipped off the other half of her makeup and picked a few white blossoms from her braid. She kissed his cheek. "I'll see you next run."

* * *

Portia took him out for coffee a few times- before, after or in between Runs. She brought him to other shows and events of hers. More often than not he sat in a corner, sketched, and watched until they were done taking pictures of her and she could take him out for apple martinis or pistachio-crusted salmon or ice cream on a lazy Sunday afternoon. It was a strange routine, but Cinna accepted it wholeheartedly. This woman was a stunning model, a Capitol legend and a staple of its highest social events, the sweetheart of cinematic legend Boris Levithan and the niece of the esteemed general Attica Wholehall… but she wanted to explore dusty antique stores with Cinna. Funny, how things worked out.

They'd sit down at a table and Portia would want to see what Cinna had been drawing. She'd want to know not only _what_ he'd been drawing but also why and how- which was a lot harder to explain to people.

Cinna drew dresses and suits and gowns because… well, some part of him just had to. And he drew them a certain way because… well, because it worked. Because those were the directions that his mind gave his hands when he wasn't thinking.

"That's the kind of artist I like and that I'd like to be," Portia mused. "Someone who just _has_ to do what they do. Who has a way to make the world beautiful and who can't stop it."

Cinna blushed and didn't know what to reply, but the waiter came to tell Portia that they were out of blueberry Danishes and could only locate cherry ones for her.

* * *

"I took the liberty of preparing a more elaborate dress in advance this time," Cinna said. "I did try to make it something you'd like anyways."

"I'm sure I'll love it," Portia said. She rubbed her eyes. "I'm too tired to argue with you anyways."

"Didn't get to sleep?" Cinna said as he unzipped the dress bag.

"You could say that," Portia said. "At any rate, it's been a long night. What do we have here?"

The dress was a simple shape. A high neck and no sleeves and a classy train.

"That's your dress?" Portia sounded nervous. "Cinna, baby… This is a big show. All the other dresses are…"

Cinna knew what she meant. The other dresses were bright blue, or the dashing oranges and haunting reds of a sunrise, or white and whimsical as clouds. Cinna had even seen feathered garments undoubtedly made to replicate birds. This, in comparison…

"The theme is 'Sky Light'," Cinna said. "I know. Do you trust me?"

This was their fifth Run together. Portia had repeatedly picked Cinna as her designer, which had made the tabloids fabricate with glee. Last time, Portia had used some of her well-placed, Capitol elitist friends to find out that Cinna had won _fourth_ place in the designers division. It was fairly respectable for such a young designer, but it made Cinna boil inside that he had been so close to finally be worth to Portia what she was worth to him…

"I do," Portia said. "You know I do. You always make beautiful things."

"Then let's get you in this dress and zip you up," Cinna said. He tried to sound confident. This had seemed like a beautiful idea at midnight when he'd been sewing and tinkering…

"Okay," Portia said uneasily. "Okay, let's do it!"

* * *

Cinna was chewing his nails to the end as he sat in the crowd and watched the models come through. He was checking the number pinned to his sweater constantly, waiting until Portia would walk onstage, hoping that he'd timed everything right…

She did. She stepped onstage and paused at the end of the runway. She strolled down the catwalk, down, down, down… Paused at the tip… Of course, Portia was beautiful, and so this worked even if the dress was plain.

Cinna counted as he prayed. _Three, two, one…_

The dress lit up. Across Portia's body, thousands of luminescent threads and imbedded lights lit up to form constellations and planets and a celestial star map. The crowd gasped and even Portia was so surprised that her happy and stunned and ecstatic expression lit up her face, even if she was onstage.

A shooting star zoomed across Portia's collarbone, and the crowd took it as a cue to cheer and go wild. Portia smiled and raised her arms, spinning in the dress to show off the intricacy of the detail and, and…

 _"I was wrong,"_ Portia told Cinna after the Run, after he'd won first place. " _I shouldn't have doubted you when you said you'd make me beautiful."_

"It's okay," Cinna had replied. "I still pick you as my model for the next Run."

* * *

Winning a Run would put a designer on the map no problem. And luckily, since Portia was all over the map, this meant that they got to work together some more. And even if she wasn't directly his, Cinna was always running into her. One day, during a massive shoot in which _Your Clothes Inc_ was shooting three different collections at once, Cinna stopped by Portia's make-up station while she waited for her next outfit in a black silk dressing gown.

"I'm just going to reapply your makeup quickly," Cinna said looking through the case of cosmetics left on the table. "See, what he was trying to do here with this colour was make the ruby of your jewellery pop, but he's ignoring those gorgeous eyes that you have…"

"A true friend," Portia laughed. "Always making sure I look my best."

Cinna finished off her makeup.

"There we are," Cinna said. And he was a little stunned and more than a little honest when he softly answered, "Beautiful."

* * *

"Why are you up _so early?"_ Portia said, sitting next to Cinna in her oversized t-shirt and leaning her head against his shoulder. "I mean, I know that I was up late talking with Boris, but I know that you worked until _at least_ one in the morning too…"

"It's an early-morning photo shoot," Cinna said. "I thought I should be on time."

"This isn't early-morning, this is sunrise," Portia said, yawning and rubbing her eyes. Even when she was still slow and stupid with sleep, she looked sharp and adorable.

"I like sunrises," Cinna said. "Look, just _look."_

"I've seen sunrises before," Portia said.

"But at the edge of the city?" Cinna said. "When there really is no horizon? When the light's playing off the scenery and the greens it's meant to match instead of the steel we've put in its way? When the entire sky is shifting colours and changing for us? When the world looks like it's about to burn just before it comes back to life? This is special."

Portia looked up and then looked at Cinna.

"It's not just me, is it?" she asked.

"Pardon?" Cinna asked.

"It's not just me. You make the whole world, beautiful," Portia said. "That's… incredible, Cinna. That's truly, truly incredible. I need a thousand like you."

"Well, you have one," Cinna said.

"That's true," Portia said leaning against his shoulder again. "I have one. Thank God for that if nothing else."

* * *

It wasn't the first time that Cinna went straight to Portia's loft to do her makeup before they went to a photoshoot, but it was the first time that Cinna had seen anything like… well…

He didn't _see_ anything, to be correct. But he heard the shouting and the pleading as soon as he stepped off the elevator and hesitated about whether or not to knock on Portia's door anyways- but then he actually _heard_ what was being shouted and recognised who was pleading and what she was pleading for and… well, at least he didn't burst in.

"Portia," he said knocking. "It's me. Sorry I'm early, can I come in?"

Everything inside the loft became very quiet, like a tree stilled after a gust of wind. The door swung open and out walked Boris, marching past Cinna as if he'd been shot out of a cannon and disappearing down the stairs. He couldn't even be bothered to wait for the elevator, or to close the door behind him- though that ended up working out since Cinna snuck inside.

"Babe, hold on a second," he heard Portia said. But she said it too late or Cinna walked in too quickly or maybe it was neither and he was just ignoring her. He walked into the kitchen and saw one of the bar stools knocked over, Portia uneasily getting to her feet by pushing off the counter. Cinna froze, and she froze too once she turned and saw him. Her hair hung limply around her face and Cinna saw her split lip first, but then the eye and…

"Oh Portia," Cinna said.

"Don't," Portia said raising a finger. "Don't talk to me about this."

"Okay," Cinna said after a second. "Come here."

He raised the barstool and sat her down. He put his make-up kit down on her counter and went over her face with his brushes and his powders and the creams and liquids and tubes and sticks.

"Am I hurting you?" Cinna asked.

"It's a bit sensitive," Portia said nonchalantly. "But don't worry about it. God knows that my face needs all the TLC it can get today- have you seen those pockets under my eyes? They're dreadful, and the blackheads on my nose aren't helping… I'm near repulsive."

Cinna couldn't spot a single blemish on her nose, or anywhere else for that matter.

"Does he tell you you're not beautiful?" Cinna asked.

"Or intelligent," Portia said. "Or imaginative, or genuine, or kind, or…"

"That's enough," Cinna said. "We don't need to hear more of that. Stay still, okay?"

"Okay," Portia said. And she did. She let Cinna

"There," Cinna said. "Beautiful as before he touched you."

Portia looked in the mirror. "It's even better hidden than when I do it."

"Does this happen often?" Cinna asked her.

Portia shook her head. Paused. Then she nodded.

"That's horrible, Portia," Cinna said quietly. "That's not okay, you can't let him…"

"I don't _let_ him, Cinna," she hissed. "He helps himself."

"I'm sorry," he said. "Those weren't the right words."

"Okay," Portia said. She took a deep breath. "Can we… talk about it some other time?"

"Okay," Cinna said. "But definitely some other time."

Portia nodded. She looked like she'd be sick, but she nodded.

Cinna wrapped his arms around her, and she clung to him too. That was enough for today, probably.

But Cinna hadn't even started being angry yet. Right now he was just sad.

* * *

"I was thinking," Cinna said. "About how interested you always were in the creative process and how you always had suggestions for the dresses I put you in during the Runs…"

"Yes?" Portia asked.

"Have you ever considered becoming a designer yourself?"

Portia didn't answer.

"If you did and it's because _he_ told you that you weren't imaginative or liverly enough…"

"No," Portia sighed. But Cinna wasn't sure what she was saying no to and she didn't elaborate, so he figured that he must be right.

"Anyways," Cinna said, "I got you this."

It was a black sketch book. Nothing fancy but a good, solid first book.

"I thought we could draw together," Cinna said.

"Drawing together," Portia said. "Okay. I like that."

* * *

"Your hair is so curly!" Cinna said when he saw Portia that morning, bright and early. She wrinkled her nose which sent her splash of freckles scrambling across her face.

"I know," she said, sounding miserable. "It's going to be so much work to straighten…"

"Straighten it- why straighten it? Wait, this is natural?"

"It is," Portia said. "My hair's always had curls. My agent just has me straighten mine. It's what the photographers and the agencies want, see."

"But…" Cinna frowned. "Your curls are beautiful."

"Thanks," Portia said with a little smile. "What _makes_ beauty anyways?"

"Well," Cinna said. "There's an innate human appreciation for rhythm, harmony, and balance. But the human brain can recognise emotions, personality traits and even fertility based off of somebody's body language and appearance, which also helps attraction. But mostly it's a construct. A social one, that is."

"Meaning that we just _decided_ what was beautiful?" Portia asked.

"Yes," Cinna said. "Or someone before us did so now we can't change it."

"Well aren't I glad I made the cut!" Portia laughed. "Or that I got close enough for you to carry me the rest of the way."

"Does Boris like your curls?" Cinna asked.

"Don't ask me that, Cinna," Portia said.

"Fine," he said. "But I think I'll make you keep them for today's photoshoot."

Portia sighed. "If we really have to change the construct…"

"We do," Cinna nodded.

That, and he was in love with the curls.

* * *

"Just go," Portia said. Her arms were raised above her head and she was waiting for Cinna to wrap a golden belt around her waist to accentuate the wedding gown she was modeling today.

Cinna hoped that she couldn't tell how badly he was blushing as he leaned towards her to wrap the belt up.

He was such a mess around someone as beautiful as her.

Or, well, just her.

* * *

Portia stood on his front steps.

"It's late," Cinna said. He wasn't even wearing a shirt anymore and he was sipping through his second cup of tea while reviewing his portfolio.

"You know Cinna, we need to stop darting around each other," she said.

"Are you drunk?" Cinna asked.

"It's possible to be honest while sober, it's just hard," Portia said. "But see: I like you, and I have to say so instead of awkwardly bouncing from our coffee dates to my real ugly life. And you like me, so you have to do something other than call me beautiful."

"Okay," Cinna said- and this completely for lack of a better word. What did one reply to that?

Maybe Portia didn't know what else to do from that point on, or maybe she was just less clueless than Cinna was. At any rate, she wrapped her arms around Cinna's neck and pulled him into a kiss. Shock kept him from responding at first, but once he started kissing her back it was hard to stop. It was impossible, actually. There was something incredibly entrancing about picking every single palette and fabric and cream and colour that went on someone and still being surprised by how sweet their lips tasted. Entrancing and… addictive.

There was something about him that Portia liked too, apparently. Because they didn't stop until daybreak.

* * *

He may not be proud of it, but Portia had spent more than enough nights at his house by this point. It had become easy to wake up next to her and wiggle his way out of bed for a drink of water and then slide back in without disturbing her rest. Easy but… disappointing. He wished that the sun knew what the moon did. He wished that Portia could love him when it wasn't dark. He wished that Portia could love herself in the light- though he wasn't sure that she did much of that in the dark either…

 _It's because she never sees herself sleep,_ Cinna thought one night when he got out of bed to shut a window and spared a moment to watch her sleep. She was curled on her side, with her hair fanned on the pillow. _She doesn't see herself in all the little ways I do. She doesn't see the flick of her fingertips when she brushes her hair back, because she's doing it. She doesn't see how beautiful her smile is because in every mirror she's ever looked, the image has been flipped and distorted. She doesn't see herself be so peaceful when she sleeps, so she never can be._

It frustrated him, and when he slipped back between the sheets and wrapped his arms around her, she actually pushed him back in her sleep because of how tightly he clung to her.

* * *

Cinna was half-dressed by the time he found Portia in the kitchen brewing coffee. She'd apparently pulled on a button-up shirt of his from the day before and had already poured him a cup. Her bangs were flipped back into the rest of her hair which gave the slowly-but-surely returning curls even more volume. She looked at her reflection in the fridge.

"I am _not_ a morning person," she said, smiling at him. "Good thing I'm with the right man to fix me up."

Considering how patient he was, Cinna didn't know why exactly this was what _really_ got him going. What really made him angry… But it did.

"You know Portia, you don't have to repeat every single awful thing that's ever been said to you in a half-assed funny way," Cinna said. "I don't want to hear Boris and your agent and the tabloids every time you open your mouth, and I don't want to feel all their misery and longing every night when you show up at my door and come to me, and I don't want to see your dreams and ideas and questions from afar because you don't want to be more than a pretty face."

Portia looked at him with wide eyes. " _Excuse_ me?"

"You're not an idiot. You know exactly what I mean."

Portia put her coffee down. "Well good morning to you too."

"Good morning," Cinna said. "That doesn't mean that I'm not right."

Portia just watched him as he opened the refrigerator and started making breakfast.

"Cinna," Portia said. "Even to you, if I'm not a model, what am I?"

"I don't know," Cinna said. "I've only met you as a model so far. I don't know if you could be a designer or a singer or an engineer or a diplomat. You've never let yourself be more than that."

Portia smiled. "My life is much more complicated than it looks, baby. Social constructs, however? That's been decided for you. It's so much easier to let others make you into something than to contort yourself into a thousand shapes."

"But that's eating you alive and breaking you to pieces too," Cinna said. "It's not keeping you safe, and it's caging you."

She didn't fight him on the subject, and Cinna sighed.

"Don't you get it, Portia? I don't make you beautiful. You always just _were,"_ Cinna said.

She was quiet until she said. "I brought the sketching pad you gave me. I'm actually using it."

"That's great," Cinna said.

"I drew things in it," Portia said nervously. "I'd like you to look."

"I'd love to," Cinna said.

Portia nodded and went to go find her purse from where she'd tossed it last night, when she'd first fallen into his arms.

The sketches were beautiful, and Cinna said so about each and every one. Even the trickier ones, the sketchier ones, the ones where the textures and colours and patterns didn't quite add up… there was always something beautiful. Just like every single moment with Portia, period.

"Do you think that these are good enough to… to sell? To make?" Portia asked.

"I don't know," Cinna said. "We'll have to start by ditching Boris and all his things, and putting a sewing machine where he kept his socks."

"Actually, I was thinking that putting one by that window would be a nice working space," Portia said pointing to the one in Cinna's living room. "And if we put a fabric shelving system over there…"

"Brilliant," Cinna smiled. "Absolutely brilliant."

He kissed her hair.

"Beautiful," he corrected. "Absolutely beautiful."


End file.
